


New Year's Eve

by Wordstreamer



Series: February Ficlets 2018 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Huddling For Warmth, New Year's Eve, Rated T for language, the Harleen/Bruce is kind of for show, this is actually from my Batman 'verse so uhh if some things seem off that's probably why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 00:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordstreamer/pseuds/Wordstreamer
Summary: February Ficlet Challenge #1 - "Huddling for Warmth"





	New Year's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the tags, this is from a Batman universe I've been poking with a stick for a while and haven't really shared anywhere. Just so it makes sense - Harleen isn't insane and she's been working with Batman since just after the Joker took an interest in her. I'll probably post some of it here eventually. OH. The Jacks are what the Joker calls his goons. All of them are Jack, or at least they all know to answer to it.

Harleen looks over at Wayne, then rolls her eyes. Her costume, which was designed with all kinds of weather in mind, is hardier than it looks. Not bulletproof, no, but stab-resistant and waterproof. Well-insulated. The Batsuit can handle just about everything that the elements (and everyone else) might throw at him. That tailored suit that was just meant to make him look good at the New Year’s Eve gala? Not so much.

\--

Joker hadn’t given her much warning on this one. “A holiday surprise!” he’d cheerfully announced, “with friends who we haven’t seen in too long.” While it might not take a genius to guess that they’d be hitting the big everyone-who’s-anyone party, it was just as plausible that they’d go after a bank vault, or a police station, or—fuck, no—an actual party just for Gotham’s underworld.

Jonathan Crane has a certain level of notoriety, yes, but no one’s looking at the waitstaff. They sure as fuck weren’t expecting for Crane to show up, slip some of his kind of crazy into the punch, and then slither back out again. Which means that now the party’s full of screaming and fucking and one guy giving a weird lecture to the painting about the evils of socialism. She saw Oswald Cobblepot sneak through, she’s pretty sure Gotham PD are waiting until they have a better handle on the situation, and the Joker told the Jacks to have fun, but not too much fun. With that instruction, she can’t blame them for all glancing warily in his direction before each step they take.

Bruce Wayne made a valiant effort to engage at least five separate Jacks in fisticuffs, not that any of them were stupid enough to engage. Considering that the Joker still wants to take Wayne apart and make him into a pretty package for the Batman (ha), that’s definitely in their best interests. But because he’d made a nuisance of himself, none of them objected at all when she wrapped an arm around him and pulled him down the hall.

“I want this one for myself,” she’d said, winking as if she had something lascivious on her mind. Get Wayne out of the public eye, get him somewhere relatively free of the cameras, and he could make a daring escape. “What do you think, Mr. Wayne? What’s the best way to get this trending on Twitter? NYEGotham?”

“Harleeeeen,” he groaned, shoving at her hard enough to knock her into a wall. Further proof that he had too much of that punch; she caught his arm again before he can get more than two steps away from her.

“Come on,” she said, lowering her voice. They were far away from the party proper—she’d seen the Blueprints for the Wayne Convention Center even if it was a while ago—and into the area where fewer people should be. “Don’t tell me you haven’t got some secret way out of here.”

“It’s a secret,” he told her.

“Right, but if we don’t get you out of here, the Joker’s going to try to put your body on the Bat Signal.”

“That wouldn’t get him—”

She shut him up by whirling around and pressing her mouth to his. It’s the only kiss she’d had in a year, which was shitty, but he didn’t let anything slip while there was still a chance of them being overheard. She’d sooner burn her cover—go undercover, the way Wayne and Gordon are always after her to do—than see him burn his. Harleen Quinzel can leave Gotham. Bruce Wayne can’t.

“Panic room, secret tunnels, what?” she asked once she pulled away, leaving him blinking at her in surprise.

“It’s not midnight yet,” he said.

“Fuck’s sake. Wayne. Bruce. Listen to me. What’s the best way to get us some privacy and _get you out of here?”_

“They’ll never see it coming,” he said. “If we go out the front door.”

“Yes, they will, because he left men at the main entrance.”

“Oh. Then we should take the secret passage.”

“Yes,” she agreed, so much more enthusiastically than necessary. Maybe if she’d known that the secret passage emptied out into a freezing alley that you can only get out of by going through yet another secret passage (this one darker and uninsulated) that exits out into an under-construction subway station, she might have been less excited.

“Huh,” said Wayne, looking around. “It wasn’t like this last time.”

“How can we get out of here?”

“If I can call Alfred, he’ll come.” Harleen gave him a wary look, but it honestly wouldn’t surprise her if Batman has some way to secretly use the subway system when no one else is paying attention.

\--

Alfred is coming. In the morning, which is still at least six hours away by most standards. And while Harleen could—should—dance back to the Joker with her sad tale about how she lost Bruce Wayne, she’s a little concerned that leaving him in the tunnels alone is going to lead to someone else finding him. Fully sober, the man can take care of himself. Since Harleen still doesn’t know exactly what was in Crane’s drug, she’s not about to abandon her main ally.

Case in point: it only took an hour for Bruce to start shivering.

“Come here,” she says, sliding her hands under the jacket and wrapping her arms around his chest.

“What’re you…”

“Unless you want to freeze before Alfred shows up, it’s time to get cozy, Wayne.”

He doesn’t argue, just slides his arms around until he can put his hands in her armpits.

“Happy new year,” he murmurs.


End file.
